


Release

by iamee



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Frottage, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Kink Meme, M/M, Missing Scene, Public Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamee/pseuds/iamee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert is doused with sex pollen while at the barricade. He's tied up and helpless and alone in the cafe, so he's left to moan and writhe in desperation. Valjean come across him and takes pity on him. He truly doesn't want to take advantage of him in this state, but Javert is begging for relief from the pain and rubbing against his hand and whimpering at his touch, and really, there's no way Javert's going to get away from the barricade while he's like this, so perhaps Valjean had better take care of this as quick as he can, and just try to convince himself that he's not aroused, not at all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaned up and hopefully free of horrible mistakes version of the fill for this prompt over [here](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/11667.html?thread=3016595#t3016595)
> 
> Has a [Chinese translation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/948514).

**Release**

 

Valjean had expected a lot of things. He expected the voices of the young men ringing up in the other room, and the silence in the back alley when he dragged Javert outside. He expected the cool evening air and the look of bewilderment that eased into resignation on the inspector's face.

He didn't, however, expect the sound that left Javert's lips when he pushed the other man against the alley's wall. This low, deep noise that cut through the rush of adrenaline coursing through his body, and made him search for Javert's eyes to hold his gaze. It seemed unfathomable to call it a moan, clearly he was mistaken, had misheard, but there was a blush rising high on Javert's cheeks and _godforbid_ the man was trembling. But of course he was, for all he knew he was about to die at his enemy's hands and Valjean shook his head, trying to clear himself of the thought and focus on his task.  
One step forward, the knife flickering for a second and the rope around Javert's wrists came undone.

"You have to leave." Valjean put the knife away, waited for him to get over his stun, to vanish into the night. For now. He wasn't fooling himself. Javert wouldn't just give up his chase like that. But for now he had to get out alive. 

And yet Javert wasn't moving. At least not away, as far away as he could if he had any sense of what was best for him. Instead he was leaning against the wall like it was the only thing that kept him standing straight, his whole body shaking ever so slightly like he was burning away from a fever. And now that Valjean had thought of it, it certainly appeared Javert was battling an internal fire, if the sweat on his brow was any indication.

"Are you ill?" Valjean asked, concern far stronger in his voice than he wanted it to be.

oOo

Javert didn't know who he had to blame. They had been upon him so fast and outnumbering, it made resistance futile. Yet he had fought back and then – then there had been the sharp explosion of pain in his head, followed by blackness. When he came to, there was a bitter-sweet taste on his tongue, the remains of something like honey in the corner of his mouth, and faint laughter in the air. It took him a frighteningly long moment to remember. Where, why, when...

Then, it had started.

He never would have thought a rough piece of rope around his neck could become a welcome distraction, but it was the irritating itch that kept him from falling. Otherwise, he would have lost his mind, surely. 

It... it started out as the smallest hint of warmth in his guts. Not more than the flickering of a candle, pleasant enough and harmless. But rather sooner than later it spread. Grew. Multiplied.  
Until a wildfire was roaring through his body, filling veins and simmering behind his eyeballs. It was the worst of torture. It was bliss. It was hell. It was ecstasy. He was burning away and the whole world around him was cool, soothing, yet there wasn't enough of it. Not enough to make it stop, to safe him.

He had pressed his knees into the floor, had fisted his hands in the rope. His teeth had sunk into his bottom lip and come away bloody. There was no use. Nothing could ease him. He was well aware that he was painfully hard in his trousers, rubbing against the fabric with every desperate move he dared.

There was laughter again, people looking at him, a hand shoved into his chest, hard enough to bruise and still he had gasped at the contact, leaning in so as not to lose it. For the time he was touched the fire quieted down a little, still there, but less urgent now. Crude words were flying through the room and he was alone again. Alone with his body that was so eager to consume itself in invisible flames until there would be nothing left of him.

And then...

At any other time Javert would have laughed bitterly at the game the universe was playing with him. Of course Valjean would be there, in his darkest hour, dragging him out into a filthy back alley here, where mindless boys had chained him up like a dog. This was the ending reserved for him: a slit throat in the dirt, his last sound on this earth the moan of a whore when his back met the wall. He wanted to laugh, but he couldn't, his tongue dry and heavy in his mouth.

But then his hands came free and Valjean was talking, urging him to leave and Javert's head sagged back against the stones. Mortification was rushing through him, along with the never-ending desire to _feel_ something that wasn't the flames inside of him. Valjean – for whatever reason – seemed entirely unaware of his state.

"Are you ill?" He asked, stepping forward.

oOo

He realised his mistake when he stepped into Javert's space, lifting a hand to touch his forehead and being taken aback when he found no unusual heat. Although Javert groaned at the fleeting touch like Valjean's hand was purest rain and he himself the desert. Upon his retreat he followed the motion, his grey eyes pained and full of something that Valjean didn't understand at first but then recognised as self-loathing. So intense and overwhelming, he didn't know where to look for a second.

oOo

He saw it coming when Valjean reached out to touch him, but he didn't think the simple brush of fingertips against his brow could reconcile the war in his body. And yet, it only got worse when the fingers withdrew. A sound escaped his lips, so desperate he couldn't, wouldn't believe it was his own.

Death would have been the more merciful option.

oOo

There was clearly no fever raging in Javert, at least none Valjean had encountered before. The man had no illness, no more visible wounds than the cut on his temple and a few bruises. Yet there was very clearly something wrong with him and as Valjean's eyes searched his body for any clue that could offer explanation he paused and his cheeks heated. How that detail had escaped him before was beyond him, but it seemed obvious that not every part of Javert found the situation unpleasant.

They were still standing close and he could feel Javert's breath ghosting over his skin with his next few words.

"Just... kill me."

Valjean shook his head violently, trying to focus once more on the danger they were still facing, time running through his fingers like sand.

"You don't know what you're saying."

Javert gave a choked laugh, the sound reverberating in Valjean's chest: "You're getting pleasure out of this, aren't you? Seeing me like this?"

There was next to no sense in arguing right now, right here, and yet Valjean found himself answering: "Despite what you're thinking of me, I do not wish for you to suffer."

A shudder went through Javert's body, his knuckles white where he had pressed them against the wall.

"Then do something." he whispered.

oOo

He wanted the dull taste of steel between his ribs, a quick bullet to the head. Not Valjean's mercy, his words, his touch...  
And still, it was all the flames longed for. Another brush of fingertips, a hand fisted into his hair, lips on his bared throat, skin flush against his own, fingers opening him up and ––

No!

It was too much. Begging Valjean to take his life was the one thing, but this... this... he couldn't. But he heard himself saying the words, barely audible yet Valjean drew a sharp breath. Then there was silence in the small space between them.

Javert closed his eyes. His blood was boiling in his veins, rushing in his ears like a mad river. He would soon be nothing but ashes, his skin feeling too small, too tight already to contain him any longer. Whatever it was they had done to him, it would waste him away, and there was only one way to stop it.

Without another word he sank to his knees.

oOo

Instinctively Valjean reached out to catch him when he saw Javert dropping, his hands coming up against the man's shoulders and Javert lowered his head, breathing too loudly, still trembling under the touch as if it meant salvation and torture altogether. Valjean let go, his hands dangling uselessly next to his own thighs, considering his options.

Javert was in pain, that much was clear. The source for his condition remained mysterious, but he was obviously reacting to every contact of their bodies in a way that both awakened mortification and curiosity in Valjean. If those innocent movement of his hands had such an impact, how would Javert react to something more... intimate...  
He pushed the thought away, his face heating again.

For a moment they were quiet, then Javert drew another shaky breath. His fingers twisted into the fabric of his trousers, like he was trying desperately to keep from touching himself, although his hips were rolling forward in the smallest of motion, still seeking friction that wouldn't be sufficient. Valjean had to avert his eyes.

It was getting out of control. There was no time for any of this, Javert had to flee this place or otherwise he would be killed. But it was also certain that he couldn't go anywhere in this condition. Even if he made it to the streets, his fate seemed questionable. God knew who would find him in his current state and what that could mean for him...

Valjean swallowed against the unwanted images unfolding in his mind that came with the solution to their problem. It was as Javert had said. He had to do something. Anything, really. But it would mean to take advantage of someone who was in no position to object. Surely Javert wouldn't want any of this under normal circumstance.

And even if Valjean had thought of it, in lonely nights and with guilt twisting his stomach even then, he could not do this to Javert. He looked at the man at his feet again, the same moment Javert raised his head and their eyes locked. Valjean felt his mouth going dry.

oOo

Mud was soaking slowly trough his trousers where he knelt on the ground, but he couldn't care less. Every fibre of his being wanted him to lean forward, into Valjean, to come as close as possible so the burning would finally disappear. The space in his trousers was uncomfortably tight, yet not enough to make him find release and he knew he would have to have it sooner rather than later or his head might as well explode.

This... this was the worst of all possible options. His fate in the hands of a criminal, his desperation taking over him. Yet it was perfect, in a strange, twisted way. Perfect because they would always come to the point again where one of them was at the bottom (figuratively or otherwise). Always looking up and down at each other for eternity. It was their curse and maybe – just maybe – it could be a blessing. So Valjean was the worst thing that could have happened to him today. But wasn't he also so much more preferable than any stranger...?

Still, Javert had never felt as humiliated as when he moved forward – and to think on his knees, it was cruelty that he couldn't die then and there – and leaned his forehead to Valjean's hand, gasping at the skin-to-skin contact and biting down hard on his bruised lip. He felt tears welling up hot and shut his eyes to hold them back.

How far he had fallen today...

And how much farther could he go...?

oOo

Of all the things Valjean hadn't expected today, this was perhaps the most distressing to witness. To see Javert on his knees, closing the gap between them and touching his hand with his brow like he was a sinner seeking absolution. Only that there was no situation he could think of that was further away from their current state than that scenario.

He should pull back his hand, not allow for this to continue, but what could he do? Javert had closed his eyes again, looking like he was lost in a silent prayer. Before he knew what he was doing, before his brain had caught up with the stir of emotion, Valjean moved his fingers down Javert's cheek, only to find wetness underneath his eyes. His heart stumbled in his chest. 

"Please..." Javert mumbled, so quietly it might as well had been his imagination. For he never would have thought he'd hear that word from those lips.

He was still stroking the man's face, unable to stop, nothing more but a feathery touch, then his thumb brushing down from soft lashes to the corner of Javert's mouth, spreading tears over skin and stubble and feeling them wetting his fingertips.

Javert _whimpered_. 

It let both of them freeze for a second. Valjean could hear the rushing of blood in his ears, the quickened beat of his heart underneath the stranger's uniform. The sounds coming from Javert's throat went straight to his cock and he swallowed hard.

oOo

He wanted to die.  
No, that wasn't completely right.  
He had wanted to die before any of this had happened between them, before everything had escalated in ways unknown before to his imagination.  
Now he wanted to die _and_ take everyone who had caused him this situation with him into the abyss. Including Valjean. _Especially_ Valjean. So that every trace of this evening could be wiped from the face of the earth forever.

He was pleading and he didn't know for what, didn't want to _think_ about for what...

Valjean's thumb rested next to his lips and it cooled the flames, but also let something rise from the depths of his guts, frightening and wonderful all the same. And it demanded more. Always more.

"Valjean..." he said, not wanting to, but needing, needing, needing...

oOo

Javert's voice was hoarse, almost breaking in the midst of his name, and Valjean didn't think he could take it any longer. Who was he to refuse this man the help he needed? It appeared he had to choose between bringing Javert relief now and deal with his hatred later, or walking away and letting him suffer until someone else came upon him. Really, there wasn't much of a choice at all.

He let his hand slide to the back of Javert's head, feeling soft, short hair and his stomach was curling with warmth and uneasiness all the same. 

No choice, he told himself. Nothing else he could do. Only an act of mercy.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, sinking down to his knees and pulling Javert against him.

oOo

Suddenly, in one swift movement, their bodies were pressed against each other, Valjean settling on the ground and pulling him into a tight embrace, his fingers digging into his neck, into his side like he needed to hold onto him or this boldness would leave him.

Not that this course of action was mirrored in a coherent thought for Javert. One second there were the fires of hell inside of him, and the next moment there was Valjean and a rush of feeling, grabbing, breathing, smelling, touching, _ohgodyes_ , and _finally_...

The _something_ inside of him writhed and shuddered, stronger now and oh so urgent. It made him press up impossibly close to Valjean, moving his head a little, and this needy sound escaping his throat over and over again.

Their chests flat against each other, he could feel Valjean's heartbeat, his uneven intake and exhale of breath while his hand trailed down his side until it came to rest on his hip.

Everything was blurry beyond the curtain of tears and want in Javert's eyes, almost painfully so, and nevertheless he opened them wide when Valjean's fingers tightened into a firm grip and he pushed Javert's hips up, bringing their groins together and creating an entire new world of friction.

Javert believed he screamed out.

oOo

He rocked against Javert, trying to make their bodies touch in as many places as possible, figuring out along the way how to handle this situation. But truth be told, it became more and more difficult with every passing second, filled with grasping and rubbing against each other, to concentrate on what he was doing, on why he was doing it, because his own body reacted to the new sensations nothing different than Javert's. Only natural and yet... he shouldn't strive for his own pleasure here, shouldn't enjoy this. Valjean pushed the guilt away. There would be plenty of time to consider his sins after this was done.

Javert gasped at his jaw, his breath prickling on Valjean's skin, and it didn't take much to bury his fingers in the inspector's hair, to tilt his head and cover his lips with his own. Javert's mouth was hot, his lips parted by another moan that was now suffocated when their kiss deepened.

Valjean closed his lips around Javert's bottom lip, sucking and biting a little, feeling the cut in the soft flesh under his teeth and letting his tongue swipe over it apologetically. Javert winced, yet drawing nearer, driven by the blind need to connect. There was merely the fabric of their trousers that separated their cocks while they were rutting against each other. They had yet to find a rhythm, but Valjean wasn't entirely convinced they would even last that long.

"Javert..." he murmured, breaking the kiss and moving down to suck at a spot right above Javert's collarbone.

He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath, the other man shuddering in his arms and his nails digging into Valjean's back. He was ashamed to admit it made him even harder, but only for a fleeting moment then now it seemed Javert was finally letting go off the last bit of control he'd possessed. 

His fingers fisted into Valjean's jacket when he pushed forward, eager to increase the movement of their hips. With an impatient sound he brought their faces together once more, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every part of Valjean's skin he could reach, and _god_ if it didn't drove him mad...

"Lie down." Valjean heard himself breathing, heavily, and his voice so low and thick with desire, he barely recognised it as his own.

oOo

At any other time he would have protested against the instruction, against the tone of Valjean's voice. Who was he to command him like it was his undeniable right? But there was also lust in that dark voice, the timbre of impatience, and the urgent feeling, this thing deep inside Javert grew with tremor, ripping through him from head to toe.

To hell with the filthy floor, the back street, and the revolution. With the whole world for all it mattered. His dignity was lost, he was falling fast and hard, and it didn't even bother him as long as they didn't break the contact of their bodies. As long as Valjean wouldn't let go.

Javert sunk back onto the stones, pulling Valjean with him, until they came to rest in an awkward tangle of limbs and clothes.

"I need," Javert mumbled, not knowing how to finish the sentence, the fire seeping into his mind as well, softer now but still sending a steady heat through his entire body.

So instead he pushed up against the warmth above him, trying to get Valjean to respond again. He couldn't stop now, could he? 

It might as well break him if he did.

oOo

Javert was kissing him again. Hard and with something that could be passion as well as desperation. Maybe it was both. Valjean felt stubble brushing against his skin with every movement of their heads, and it brought back the reality of what he was doing and with whom he was doing it. He groaned.

It was slightly easier now to roll his hips forward and get the desired result, the angle somehow better, but it was still not _perfect_. He wasn't even sure what he meant by it. He just knew if this was the only chance he'd get at this, he wanted it to be as good as possible. For Javert of course. Of course...

He slid a hand between them, stroking over Javert's stomach and then down to the waistband of his trousers. Valjean unsuccessfully tried to keep his breathing even, biting down on his lip as he worked on the fastening, steadying himself with one hand on the ground. They had to be such an obscene sight: Javert's legs bent at each side of his waist, he himself lowering above him and they both panting and tugging at each other like it meant damnation to let go.

Eventually, his fumbling was fruitful. His fingers found warm skin, a stripe between Javert's shirt and where his trousers were at last opened just enough to reach inside. Valjean hesitated for a moment, stretching himself to press a kiss to Javert's forehead as his hand slid down underneath the wool fabric. He breathed on his skin, tasting salty sweat on his lips, the muscles in his other arm starting to tremble under his own weight. But if he were to let himself lie down properly between Javert's thighs, all it would take were a few thrusts for him to come, and it wasn't his own pleasure he was seeking. Valjean swallowed and gripped Javert in his hand.

oOo

He came, the second Valjean touched his prick. It surprised him, and – while it was in no way unpleasant – he felt embarrassed and confused all the same. Then, when the relief had washed through him, and his body stopped tensing and shivering, the flames returned. There was the cruel heat all over again and all he could do was writhing on the dirty street, feeling himself hardening in Valjean's hand again, so quickly it seemed almost impossible.

Valjean went still for a split second, before he started to move his fingers once more, stroking up from the base to the tip, his thumb brushing in small circular movements over Javert's balls whenever he came down to reach them again.

Whatever it was those schoolboys had dosed him with, its effects were magnificent. Javert had merely come down from the force of his orgasm, and already the next one was building up inside of him. However, he wanted something different this time – and he'd never thought he could want anything that urgently. Least of all from this man.

He moved his hands from where they had been digging into Valjean's shoulders and onto his sides, and then a little bit down, hooking two fingers in the man's waistband and licking his lips. The way Valjean's pupils dilated didn't go unnoticed.

"You," Javert grumbled, the syllables struggling on his tongue like they were alive things. "Come on."

His stomach was sticky and so were Valjean's fingers around him, everything hot and messy in the smallest of spaces between them, but he had to have more.

Javert pulled at the fastening of Valjean's trousers, trembling and impatient, and not caring if the fabric would rip under his frantic efforts or not. 

So far gone...

oOo

Valjean had heard of a lot of substances. Tinctures, poison, ointment. Potion, even. In Toulon there had always been a lack of medication, and that fact hadn't changed once he'd set foot in the world outside the prison walls. Still there were people selling little bottles and jars – more often of dubious nature than not – on the streets. But he'd never once heard of something that could bring a man into a state such as Javert's.

And to feel him shuddering underneath his body, his head thrown back, the noises that kept escaping his throat, the way his face became distorted for a glorious moment, and then everything going still... Valjean wanted to preserve the moment forever (a memory he'd doubtlessly come to regret in the light of the morning, but for now...).

He didn't want it to stop, to be over.

So his pulse quickened when he found Javert hardening again, gripping perhaps a little too hard as the man's hips jerked up to meet his touch. Oh, it was dangerous to see the look in his eyes, resentment and pleasure mixed together, and something still pleading for him to continue. It nearly took him over the edge. 

But then Javert's hands were on his trousers, not steady but determined and Valjean didn't have time to readjust their position, to make a sound of approval or protest, before he was freed from the tightness of his clothing and eager fingers curled around his cock.

Valjean seemed to choke on his breath.

It wasn't that the thought hadn't occurred to him – what it would feel like, being touched by Javert in this way – but he didn't expect it to happen. He didn't _have_ to do this, didn't have to fulfil the want simmering deep down in Valjean's belly. But now, with Javert's hands on his flesh, the sheer neediness of their movements almost felt overwhelming and he lowered his head, shut his eyes against the urge to push into the tight warmth and find release. Too soon, all too soon...

oOo

He liked the way Valjean groaned above him, liked how it made his insides expand in a sense that had nothing to do with the unnatural heat that roared in his veins. It was rather like being filled from head to toe by an invisible force, knocking the air out of his lungs and leaving him breathless, gasping for air like a drowning man. He would call it content, if that wasn't such a ridiculous term to use in their current situation.

So he tried to ignore it, stroking Valjean hard and fast, the slick, intimate noises of skin against skin loud, sinful in his ears. Surely this would follow him even beyond his grave. The look on Valjean's face, the droplets of sweat on his forehead, his suffocated gasp when he bent down and buried his face in Javert's shoulder, his finger brushing lightly, wetly over the underside of his prick, sending pleasant little shocks through Javert's spine... how could he deny what it did to him? 

Valjean's breath was hot where his opened mouth pressed into Javert's shirt, he could feel it even through the layers of clothes. There was a deep tremble going through his whole body, from the effort to keep himself pushed up above Javert as well as from the feverish working of their fingers. This wouldn't do...

Javert swallowed before he freed a hand that was trapped between them. 

"Valjean." He said, his heart stuttering underneath his ribs.

He didn't mean for his fingers to end up in Valjean's hair like this, but there they were, stroking through soft strands and then pressing down a little harder, nails scratching Valjean's scalp and eliciting a moan. Javert licked his lips again, trailing down his hand, over neck, shoulders, Valjean's back, until it came to rest on the small of his back.

He closed his eyes, heat pulsing red behind the lids. The tension in Valjean's body was palpable under his fingertips. Even if the man was strong, stronger than any other he'd ever met, this position couldn't be all that comfortable for him. And there was this demanding thing still squirming inside Javert, whispering for more. More contact, more skin, more touches.

"There, let me." Javert muttered into Valjean's hair, moving the hand left between their bodies and pushing up his hips.

oOo

Javert was shifting under him, moving his hands and it seemed as he was touching him everywhere, fingers exploring Valjean's body without much patience but all the more purposefully. Or perhaps he was only imagining their intention, being dangerously close to losing himself in the space between them.

And then Javert was pressing up against him, lining up their erections as Valjean's fingers slid down to his hipbone, digging into the flesh hard enough to leave a bruise. But Javert didn't seem to care, arching his spine and rutting against him helplessly.

Their skin was slick with sweat and come, nothing to prevent them from pushing against each other, from the sounds they were producing, panting and groaning.

Valjean shuddered, heat pooling at the pit of his stomach while he sank down, not longer able to resist, not longer able to hold back, his weight coming down on Javert and his hands grasping wherever they could reach. Not even a page of paper would have fit between them as they clung to each other, moving frantically. Valjean turned his face, pressing his mouth to Javert's throat and felt his pulse racing under his lips, tasting salt on the warm skin and shutting his eyes.

oOo

There was no stopping them now. As if there ever had been, really, Javert mused bitterly before he let out another moan as Valjean's tongue swiped over his skin and the thought of what that warm mouth could do to him if there was only more time, if they were only other people, became overwhelming to him.

And wasn't that what their troubles were boiling to?

Not enough time.

Nothing they could do to change who they were.

No use fighting what he could not stop.

Valjean was heavy on him, pinning him to the ground without effort, just by the weight of his body, all muscles tense and shivering with every other of their movements. They were a mess and they always had been one, it was all clear to Javert now in one brilliant moment of pain and bliss alike, but what was he to do when there was lust blurring his sight and want making him whisper filthy nothings into Valjean's hair?

_Hurry up. More. Don't hold back. Let me have it. All of it._

He was not quick enough to swallow down the words, stumbling over his bruised lips and when Valjean gave a strangled sound, trembling against Javert's thighs like he was about to fall apart... well, how could he regret it?

Everything came crushing down around them. The world, the night, perhaps reality and yet nothing mattered beyond their bodies' movements.

Until the fire would be satisfied and allow him his peace. Until they both would turn to ashes in the flames, consumed completely and utterly spent.

Maybe they've had it coming all along.

oOo

Javert's voice was rough and low, his breath hot on Valjean's head and his hands demanding on his back. Long ago, (seconds, ages, who knew?) he had wrapped his legs around Valjean's waist, tangling them in a chaos of shuddering limbs and hastily pushed away fabric.

Briefly, Valjean wondered how long they'd been doing this, how much longer it could continue without a startled scream from somewhere behind them. But then he let his hips roll down against Javert's skin once more, finding slickness and friction and his body felt too small to contain the tension that was rushing through him blindingly. His hips were stuttering and so were Javert's, while the moment seemed to stretch to infinity – and then it was over.

His heart beat in his chest like it was about to break through the cage of his ribs. In between gulps of air he murmured Javert's name against his jaw.

Valjean could not say whether they had reached completion at the same time or if Javert had spent himself before. He could not think beyond the deep humming in his bones, the lightness in his head when he moved to look at Javert's face.

For a moment he felt disappointment that he didn't see him losing all grip in his eyes once more, but then Javert blinked and gazed at him under half-closed lids.

"What?" Javert muttered, exhaustion and content in equal measure displayed in his expression.

"Nothing."

Valjean pushed himself up, kneeling between Javert's opened legs and tearing a piece from his undershirt to clean them up with. Surprisingly, Javert let him, without another word or even silent protest. When he was done, Valjean looked them both over doubtingly. Nothing but a bath could make them look presentable, but at least their appearance was now merely the one of two men who'd been in brawl, and not acting out their desires like animals in a narrow alley. The thought made his cheeks heat and sent a pleasant shudder through his body. Apparently he wasn't as spent as he'd thought.

Javert sat up slowly, tucking himself away and fixing his clothing as well as he could without looking up at Valjean. He seemed calm, the feverish glow had left his face and there was a deep wrinkle on his forehead. Valjean wanted to reach out, brush his fingertips over the skin there and smooth it. But instead he busied himself with a last few hand grips to improve his appearance.

There was no more time to waste. He had allowed for this to go on much longer than he could reconcile with his conscience. All he had wanted to achieve was for Javert to come out of this alive. If he were to be killed because of this own selfishness, Valjean would not know how he could live with that burden.

"You must go," he said, getting up from the cold ground and looking around them to see if they had been noticed already. For the first time tonight, oh so foolish. Foolish and a sinner. Could he never escape his self?

"Please, Javert." He added lowly, offering a hand to help him up, trying to get across the urgency of their situation.

oOo

The fire was gone. Or at least Javert didn't feel like he was burning alive anymore, even now that the touch of Valjean's hand had ceased and they were once more separated. He did not know what to make of it.

Valjean looked down at him, his hand open in the air between them, trembling only a little, nothing more than an exhausted man would tremble. And the night was not yet over. The facts pattered down on Javert like heavy rain, washing away the traces of satisfaction left in his body and making him groan with frustration.

Not only had he given himself to a convict, in the most undignified ways imaginable but also had he never felt as much pleasure as in those minutes. The thought twisted his stomach and lay cold like stone on his tongue. And the worst part was that he could not be sure it was over. Yes, he had to return, he had to run and stop this outrage of a revolution, but how could he know he was released from the drug they had given him? For now he was safe, saved by Valjean and oh it stung, that knowledge. And it made him fear for what was to come...

"What if..." Javert said, turning his head and avoiding Valjean's gaze. He didn't know how to voice his concern, how to make himself understood because once more he wasn't sure what he was asking for. Because he _could_ not possibly ask for it again. 

What if the fire would return? What then?

Javert felt his mouth going dry at the mere thought. 

"Come." Valjean murmured, holding out his hand like an invitation that would not take 'no' for an answer.

Javert uttered a sigh, taking it and cursing himself inwardly. Warm fingers wrapped around his own and he was standing above the ground, his clothes dirty and wet, sticking to him uncomfortably.

Valjean looked at him and this time he resisted the urge to avert his eyes, holding the stare and breathing in deeply. Then Valjean suddenly closed the distance between them, his lips hot against Javert's ear, the words a rush of syllables and breaths. And Javert stood motionless as Valjean finished, pressing a quick kiss to his temple, moving away and letting go of his hand all at once.

"Leave." He hissed, fumbling for the pistol on his hip and nodding to the end of the street. From inside the tavern they could hear voices nearing and doors being opened.

Javert stared at him for another second, uncertain and wild, and then he turned, running towards escape. The bullet that hit a wall near him made him flinch only briefly, looking back at the quiet figure in the shadows. Valjean smiled. It was the last thing that was in Javert's mind when he turned the corner.

Then there was running, ducking, for the first time being the one who felt chased. By real dangers as well as his memories. Valjean's lips, the touch of his skin, the noises they had shared back there...

And, most of all, the words whispered into his ear. The words that made him stumble, when he finally reached a silent spot, made him lean against the wall, breathless and his knees barely supporting him any longer when he felt the smallest hint of warmth in his guts, nothing more but the flickering of a candle. That, and the echo of Valjean's voice in his mind.

_"If I come out of this alive, you'll find me at number fifty-five Rue Plumet. No doubt our paths will cross again."_

 

[Relapse (Sequel)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/790384)


End file.
